Mantras
by QueenV
Summary: *CH.2 now up* Draco Malfoy has developed many mantras throughout his life which he has lived by. But as the war with Voldemort draws ever closer, how will Draco and his new found affection for Harry Potter play into it all? *SLASH*
1. Origin of the Mantras

A/N: My first fic in the Potter universe. And subsequently my first bit of Potterslash. Reviews are begged for two reasons: (1) I want to know if it's remotely in character and (2) I want to know if I should keep writing. I know, I demand a lot...

WARNING: This *is* a slash piece. As in future chapters (if they exist) will contain Harry/Draco. As in MALE/MALE. Flames will be laughed at and used to keep me warm through the last bit of the Canadian winter. DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. Never have never will. JK Rowling is a bloody genius. Thanks you *bows*

Now on with the fic!

  
  
  
  


Draco Malfoy had adopted a mantra many many years ago. Granted, it had changed, altered with time, but the gist of it had alway remained the same. 

Before Draco could walk his father - or so his mother told him - would tell him stories about the twisted and evil Harry Potter. The little wizard who had defeated their saviour - Voldemort. The platinum haired boy grew up hearing these stories and thus had developed his first mantra.

/Hate thy enemy./

By the time Draco was five, he had a vast collection of Harry Potter dolls. Initially, Lucius had despised the fact his heir was playing with Potter dolls. However, the elder Malfoy's protests were silenced once he found out his son was popping the heads off the dolls to see how far each head would fly across the room.

Then the blonde had received his Hogwarts letter. Lucius and Narcissa had spat for days about whether or not their son should attend the school 'run by that muggle-loving fool'. Mr. Malfoy had wanted Draco to attend Durmstrang - for obvious reasons involving the Dark Arts, but his wife had insisted that Draco go to Hogwarts because it was closer. And she was 'losing her baby boy'. Lucius eventually caved in when he realized that going to Hogwarts meant being closer to one Harry Potter. 

So, Draco's father sat down on Draco's bed one night and devised with him a plan. And as a result, the xanthochroid changed his mantra.

/Befriend thy enemy./

Unbeknownst to Draco, he would meet his enemy before he'd intended to. He'd hardly giving the dishevelled boy in Madam Malkin's robe shop a second thought until he met up with him again. With the Weasley boy in tow.

Why the Malfoy's hated the Weasley's - and vice versa - the real reason shall never be known. The two families may have at one time, had reasonable reason to despise the other. But generations of hatred and torment had caused the reason to become blurry. Draco knew he hated the Weasley's because his father did; and that was as good a reason as any. *And* the clumsy little red-head had beaten him to Potter - another very good reason. 

What the little Malfoy did not count on was the messy haired boy's refusal in his hand of friendship. Was he *that* transparent? 

The sorting ceremony came and went and - as expected - the eleven year old Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin. Potter, Weasley and a variety of other Mudbloods had been sorted into Gryffindor. Naturally.

Draco's quill shock ever so slightly as he wrote a letter to his father informing him of Potter's refusal. Lucius did not take kindly to failure, and although he'd never physically harmed Draco (yet) the boy knew nothing good would become of this.

The next morning as the mail was delivered, the nervous Slytherin kept an eye out for his owl. Zeus flew promptly over to Draco, waited for his letter to be untied, and soared back out of sight. To his great surprise - and delight - his father had not expected the boy's friendship to come so easily. Instead, Draco was given a new set of instruction and he altered his mantra.

/Know thy enemy./

Follow Potter, learn more about the boy than even the boy knew about himself. It wasn't hard. And the xanthochroid discovered what made the boy tick. 

So for six years Draco had stayed true to his mantra. Although, one night while he was lying in bed, scratching nervously at the Dark Mark that had been burned unwillingly to his arm, he found his mantra had changed.

/Stalk thy enemy/.

He couldn't pinpoint the time when /Know thy enemy/ had shifted to /Stalk thy enemy/ but Malfoy guessed it would have been before their fifth year ended. 

For some obscured reason, Potter's presence had become comforting. Heavens forbid. Perhaps Draco foresaw the events of the past summer. The torture, the carnage, the Dark Mark. Or perhaps it was that Draco found his Slytherin 'companions' were no longer apt enough to deal with him. Or perhaps it was even the preconceived idea that his mantra would be changing once again. At Christmas time during his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

/Love thy enemy./

  
  
  
  
  
  


A/N: Again. Short, I know. Loved something? Hated something? Please let me know! XD


	2. The Thing I Hate

A/N: Weee~! Chapter 2! This is what happens when I get bored at school. Anywho, this is dedicated to nightwing and QueenStrata (the only two people who reviewed chapter one thus far). Yay! ^_^

WARNING: This is *slash* or at least, it should be, eventually. Should I get around to writing it that far. Me and my procrastination...

Disclaimer: I am JK Rowling! Pffft. I wish. *is making no money off this fanfic which is a shame because she's relatively broke*

  
  
  
  


Chapter 2

The Thing I Hate

  
  


Looking back on it now, Draco realized that the day his world started to fall apart, it was sunny. Sunny! It broke all the rules of cliches - days like this should have had dark, ominous clouds, pouring rain and vicious thunders. Maybe then Malfoy would have paid a bit more attention. But, it should have not - most definitely - been sunny.

"M-master Draco..?" the timid voice of a house elf - who's name Draco did not know - broke through the young man's studies.

"What do you want?!" He snapped from his lavish, four-poster bed. "Can't you see I'm busy?" It was true. Even he had difficulties completing the massive amounts of summer work his Potions Master assigned (but he was not about to let anyone know that).

"M-master L-lucius calls f-for you in t-the d-drawing room... sir..." the elf added as an afterthought.

The young xanthochroid sighed, "Very well." He eyed the little creature warily as he stepped from his room. The elves in the manor were frightened of their masters yes, but this little servant seem especially... anxious.

Had he given that thought more than a moment before dismissing it, Draco Malfoy would not have gone to the drawing room.

The air in the room was cold; slightly odd because of the summer heat, but again Draco dismissed the thought. He also paid little attention to the fact that the candles in the room were dimmed - and that the portraits on the walls were eyeing him nervously. He practically ignored the blatant warning signs, until he saw Voldemort - - and froze.

The greatest (or worst) Dark wizard was standing at the other end of the room; a malicious glint in his demon-red eyes. Lucius Malfoy was not three paces behind his master. As the first nodded, the latter stepped forward towards his heir. 

"Isss he ready Lucciusss?" Voldemort hissed.

"He is my Lord."

/No, no... not yet! I'm not ready! I can't do this! I don't want this!/ he begged silently to his father. Draco tried his best to regain his composure, "F-forgive me Lord. But I thought you did not accept teenagers into the Death Eaters," mentally kicking himself for stuttering. 

"Aaah, young Draco. You are very perceptive. It issss true. But you are an exception. Ssso young and powerful."

The xanthochroid gulped, "I-I fear that I may not be as useful as you credit me for," he caught a glare from Lucius, but continued anyway. "And it would become more difficult for me to keep an eye on Potter if I bear your mark. Dumbledore..."

"ENOUGH!Young Malfoy, you give me the impression that you do not wissh to bear my mark of power."

"N-no... that's not..."

"SILENCE then boy. You sshall be punished for this insubordination. /Crucio/."

Draco fell to the ground, trying to bite back the scream lodged in his throat. Every limb in his body was on fire. He couldn't breathe. Wave after wave, mountain after mountain of pain crashed over him. And he found himself unable to hold it back when his father added his own /Crucio/.

The sixteen year old couldn't remember when he'd been released from the spell; but the next thing he remembered was hearing someone walk towards him. He tried to scamper backwards, out of the man's bony grip. Anything to get away. He wouldn't go down without a fight. He would not become just another mindless servant. /I won't become like my father./

"My my Lucciusss, this sson of yoursss isss rather uncooperative."

"I assure you my Lord, if you are unsatisfied you may dispose of him."

That was it. He was unsatisfactory to Voldemort and his father was giving the wizard permission to kill him. No, Lucius was giving him permission. Draco Malfoy had no father, not anymore.

"But he will be of usse to me. Come now little Malfoy."

"No!" He screamed, or he would have screamed had his mouth not gone dry during the curse. It cracked and sounded more like a whimper than a word. He backed away again, in a fleeting attempt to get away again.

"Very well then, I fear I have no choice. /Imperio/."

And Draco's mind went black. He heard a voice, "Come here child." 

/No!/ he screamed to himself. But he found his body moving of its own accord. /NO!/ He tried again. It was hopeless.

"Give me your arm."

He silently obeyed. 

"Good."

In one last futile attempt to break the curse he tried to think of something. Something strong. Something that could help him. And as Voldemort pressed his wand to Draco's forearm and uttered, "/Morsmordre/" an image flashed through his mind.

- Potter -

And Draco screamed.

  
  



End file.
